Suffocation
by microscope
Summary: The aftermath leaves Tony in ruins. Memories trigger panic, panic triggers embarrassment, and maybe Tony needs Steve more than he thought he did. (Steve/Tony) (Tony's POV)
1. Chapter 1

**For Bellanca**

* * *

It happens at the oddest of times.

Like when Steve wants to go through the automatic car wash.

It's a new experience for him, and you rarely go through them yourself, but just this once, you agree. Normally, you wouldn't trust that kind of machinery around your babies, and you would rather wash your cars yourself, but this time, it's special, because Steve is acting as giddy as a child, and so you comply, for him.

You ignore the way your chest tightens anxiously, and set the car in neutral, watching as your favorite Audi R8 is encased in the darkened tunnel of water and soap.

You last for about a minute.

The panic sets in. Your head spins, your eyes burn...everything feels _wrong_. Your chest is killing you, and for a moment, you fear that the arc reactor in your chest is failing at its job to keep you alive.

Steve notices the way your knuckles turn white from gripping the wheel so hard, and he certainly hears your quickened, panicked breathing. It's then that you realize you _can't_ breathe- it feels like your insides are collapsing- and you are trying so hard to just suck in a little bit of sweet, precious oxygen.

"Tony."

Steve is worried, as he places his hand on your thigh. The contact causes you to shudder in surprise, and with a series of hysterical gasps for air, you switch gears and you _drive out of the car wash._

Steve's protests go unheard as you're only focused on escaping the hell that you're certain you've got yourself into.

Water, darkness, unfamiliar noises, caves...it's _suffocating_ you.

It all comes back to you so violently that you feel you might be sick. You tear out of the car wash and pull off to the side of the road, still trying to get ahold of yourself and breathe. You open the car door and stumble out, clutching the roof of the car for support, your other hand on your chest.

Steve gets out and comes to your aid, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You're embarrassed for him to see you like this, gasping for breath and trembling from more than just the cool September air.

It's a clear, crisp night in New York. Steve was treated to dinner, and on the way back, he suggested the car wash. Regret shines in his worried eyes as he stares at you, no doubt feeling that he's to blame for...for whatever this little episode is.

It's then that you realize Steve has never seen you like this before, and he's bound to pester you with questions, because he sure looks freaked out.

"Tony..! Tony, it's ok." Somehow his soothing voice brings you back to reality. You're not in Afghanistan. You're on a quiet side street, in the depths of the city. You're with Steve. You're fine. Breathe, dammit just breathe...

You can't bring yourself to say anything, because you don't trust your voice. You clear your throat, fix your composure, and suddenly you're back in the car, driving safely home with Steve.

"Turn here." He says, and you do. You know this street. It's not like you go to Central Park very often- you never have the time- but like any New Yorker, you know your way around.

You park, and Steve helps you out of the car, much to your dislike. Other than worried glances from Steve every 2 seconds, the ride had been silent and tense.

You walk down a darkened path towards the biggest lake in the park, intertwining your fingers together when you're sure no one is around. You stand at the edge of the lake and stare out at it, wanting to say something to break the silence, but not sure of exactly _what_ to say.

Luckily, Steve does it for you.

"What the hell was that?"

His tone is concerned, slightly demanding, and laced with disbelief. You know he's serious, because Captain America _doesn't_ curse. He's never been to a car wash before, but he's certain you aren't supposed to drive out of one like a maniac, which is exactly how you went about it.

You swallow, staying silent as you grind your jaw nervously, wanting to erase your little breakdown from both of your memories.

It's awhile before you finally answer, and when you do, it's as smug and sarcastic as always.

"Nothing to worry about. I've never really liked car wash's, is all."

Steve doesn't buy it, you can see it on his face, but he doesn't say anything more on the matter, which you're thankful for.

He pulls you close and you're thankful for his tall build and warmth; a welcomed change from the biting cold of fall.

"We'll talk about it later," he says, and you cringe because you really don't want to. Steve feels this because he pulls you even closer and rests his chin on the top of your head. Normally, the position would make you feel small and uncomfortable, but you don't attempt to escape his strong embrace because you've already been embarrassed enough for one night.

You watch as the moon rises above the sparkling lake, and you think, because that's all that you're good at. Thinking, and overthinking at times, because you've somehow convinced yourself that you don't deserve the support that Steve is offering you. You're pathetic, and weak, and dammit you've let too many emotions slip through the mask you've worked so hard to construct.

You're a failure. Tony Stark is afraid of car washes, and Steve is probably laughing at you on the inside, because you're a fucking joke.

You grind your teeth, and you're probably trembling again, because Steve is leading you back to the car and mumbling something sweetly about getting you to bed.

You know that you won't sleep.

* * *

You're drunk.

Steve isn't around, and that's fine. You don't know where he goes, but it doesn't matter to you because your clouded mind isn't comprehending things properly anyhow.

Things haven't been the same since New York.

You can't sleep, you barely eat, and you don't spend as much time with Steve as you should. It's hard when you're always in your workshop anyway.

You're fairly certain, that you're messed up in the head. Wormholes, caves, and just about every other near-death experience you've had is always popping into your head, at the worst of moments.

Dates with Steve, board meetings, debriefings with Fury. Anything. It's mostly when you're alone, whether you're in your shop, drinking yourself stupid, or just driving home. But the ones in public are the ones you remember the most, because it's so much harder to get a grip. If it weren't for JARVIS, or Steve, there would have been several occasions where you probably would've gone insane. (Well, more so, at least.)

It starts with good old fashioned anxiety- something you've had since Afghanistan- and it slowly gets worse. There's the trouble breathing, and the chest pains, and sometimes things get even more physical than that. More than likely, it's triggered, like that stupid car wash incident a few weeks ago, but lately, it's been for no reason at all. (Or so it seems that way.)

You pour another glass of scotch and down if in two gulps, sighing as you stare out the window at the sparkling lights of New York below.

It's been almost a year since the incident, but sometimes, you swear you can still smell the burning debris of the city. It seems like now is one of those times, because you have to turn and bury your face in the cushion of the couch to keep from gagging; the smell of smoke is almost unbearable. Then you're sure that you've lost you're mind, because you _know_ that nothing is burning, but yet there is smoke in the room, and it's choking you.

It's hard to breathe again, and part of you wants to blame the smoke, but you know better.

"Sir, shall I alert Captain Rogers..?" That's JARVIS, always looking out for you.

"No..!" You gasp, because he can't see you like this again. You press your face further into the couch and muffle a sob, because your head is spinning and you're nauseous from your own damn imagination.

But you _swear_ that the city it burning again, because right before your eyes you can see the wormhole. The dark portal into a cold nothingness, and now it's swallowing you up, and sucking the oxygen from your lungs.

You jump, and stumble off the couch, gasping for air as you lay on the cold floor, watching the room spin around you as you wait for reality to set in.

And then Pepper is there. She's rubbing your arm, and whispering comforts as she helps you sit up. The illusion fades, and now you can smell the familiar aroma of Stark Tower, and something that's suspiciously like Chinese take out.

"Thanks Pepper..." You mutter, and the hand on your bicep pulls away. You blink. Steve is fixing you with a hurtful glare, and it takes you longer than it should to realize your mistake.

"M'drunk..." You slur, because it's the only excuse you can offer.

He shakes his head and pulls you to your feet, effortlessly and a little roughly. The room spins, and again, you blame the alcohol.

Before you can even blink, you're sitting in the kitchen with Steve, several boxes of Chinese takeout laid out. Steve has already consumed 2 of them, but you're still staring blankly at the small box of rice in front of you, debating whether or not you should eat it.

"Tony, you should eat." Steve is gentle but firm, and although you can see that it's his mouth that's moving, it's Pepper's voice that you hear. You shake your head roughly, and wonder if you'll puke if you eat anything. You already feel like it anyhow.

"Can't," you say simply, because it's the truth. The empty feeling stirring in your stomach makes it hard to concentrate.

Steve helps you to bed, and doesn't even fuss that you didn't eat anything. You down some pain meds for the hangover that's bound to come, and pass out as soon as your screwed up head hits the pillow.

* * *

At some point, you decide to distract yourself from everything by busying yourself with work.

Press, board meetings, charming smiles, alcohol, parties, awards. Girls throw themselves at you, and years ago you would've taken them home two at a time.

But you're loyal, and politely decline because you're in a committed relationship now.

Steve doesn't like when you're away too long, but you don't mind because it's an escape. Maybe New York is a bad idea. You used to reside in Malibu, but since Pepper left, you and Steve decided that Stark Tower is better.

Less memories, but yet, new ones have surfaced since living in the city. They're just different. Less saddening, but altogether more painful. Physically.

Your anxiety has only gotten worse since the Chitauri, and the panic attacks are intense and embarrassing. So far, you've been okay, but it's seems like today- on your flight back to the city- you just can't get your thoughts to settle down.

You think about Pepper, probably more often than you should. You'd both decided on being friends, after all that you had been through together, but it seemed like at some point she stopped being even that. She disappeared in her work and even moved out from under your roof. She stopped being your PA and focused on being the CEO.

It hurt, more than it should have.

You're certain that at some point, you loved her. She was the only one that put up with you at your worst times, and now it seems like she is almost completely out of your life.

But then, you met Steve.

A smile graces your lips as you lean back in the comfortable chair of your private jet. It's the first time you've felt genuinely happy in a long while...

"Big man in a suit of armor. Take that off and what are you?"

"Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist."

It was a rough start for you both. There were heated glares, sarcastic remarks, and even a few shoves here and there.

He told you to put on your suit and fight, but it was then that all hell broke loose.

You relied on him to help you fix the engine, and he nearly had you killed in there, but it worked out okay anyway.

And then there was the battle on the streets, when you were supposed to fight as a team and stop the Chitauri from destroying your planet.

The Avengers were deemed heroes, but it went unspoken that it was really you that was the hero. You flew that nuke into the portal, and wow Tony, didn't you know you could've died?

Unfortunately, it seems like the wormhole is a favorite subject for the press, and there have been times where you just couldn't handle an interview. It doesn't help that everyone recognizes you wherever you go- of course they do, you're Tong Stark!- because you almost never get a break.

The worst part is the kids, who mean no harm but cause it anyway. They come to you with toys and drawings, and things to sign your name on. You do, because you can't resist their excited smiles, but then they get nosy, and their harmless questions make you freeze up.

You can usually get out of it, by shrugging it off with a comment that redirects the conversation, but sometimes they're persistent.

Persistent like Steve.

After the battle, he approached you, and apologized. It was lengthy and sincere. He told you how he was wrong about you. He even went as far as to say he admired you, and you'll admit that it was a pretty great feeling hearing that from _Captain America._

You didn't accept the apology at first, and you actually avoided him for a long time afterwards. Pepper was gone at that point, but the team had moved into the tower with you, for a short while. You locked yourself in your workshop, ignoring everyone except for Bruce, who occasionally came down and worked with you on one of your projects.

But Steve always seemed to turn up whether you were. In the kitchen at 3am, or on the roof at midnight. Every time you stepped foot out of your workshop, he would be there.

At first, it was irritating, and just plain annoying. But slowly, you grew to appreciate it. How sweet of him, to act like he cared. You knew that's what it was. Just an act.

But still...

Maybe, he really did care.

You smile, because you know now that he did. After you somehow forgave him, you spent more and more time around each other, until the day he ended up asking you to be more than just friends.

Next thing you know, you're announcing to the team that you two are officially a couple, and the reactions are...mixed.

Clint had thought you were joking, while Natasha remained as straight faced as always. Bruce got surprisingly angry, although he never revealed why. His eyes had flashed green, and he had walked off without a word. He came around later, apologized for being immature, and congratulated you and Steve. You still don't know why he wasn't happy from the start, although you suspect a number of different reasons. He doesn't treat you any differently, which you're grateful for, but sometimes, when Steve is mentioned, you swear you can see that glint in his eyes.

Thor was joyous with the announcement, slapping you both on the back rather roughly, and wishing you happiness in your relationship. Fury had rolled his eyes and told you that he'd be keeping an eye on you two. But as he turned away, you didn't fail to miss the slight upturn of his lips, almost in a sort of smile.

Rhodey and Happy had mixed feelings about it. They were both a little wary at first, asking you if you were drunk, or at least aware of the decision you were making. Once you'd convinced them that, no, you're not drunk, and yes, you know what you're doing, they hesitantly congratulated you. Although, you suspect that they aren't truly happy about it, they still offer you support, and they'll occasionally come by to visit you whenever they can- which is still rare.

You called Pepper to tell her too. Her reaction surprised you the most. She actually started crying and then hung up.

You remember the beginnings of your relationship. If was the first time you were actually...shy. Although you'll never admit it out loud, dating Steve Rogers actually kind of intimidated you.

He was so perfect and you were so...you. Steve had:

1) a better body

2) better morals

3) less people who hated him

4) way too kind of a heart

Basically, you were polar opposites. But that didn't stop the strange attraction you had towards him. In fact, you've always been crushing on Rogers, maybe even as a kid when you would sleep in you Captain America pajamas, or when you would collect all the comics and read them a million times over.

When he'd said to put on your suit so you could go a few rounds, you'd secretly hoped that he meant the opposite of what he was intending.

But eventually, you ended up together anyway, and things have gone pretty smoothly since then.

It's safe to say that Steve is the most sturdy thing in your life at the moment.

* * *

It happens again when you're out with Steve.

He stops you before you enter the theatre and calmly reminds you that it will be dark. You scoff and tell him you'll be fine, because you honestly aren't afraid of the dark.

The movie starts and Steve holds your hand. You're in the front row, so no one behind you can see; you both have reputations and a secret relationship to keep.

You feel fine, because 1) you can handle dark rooms, and 2) it's not like you haven't been to a movie before. Plus, Steve is right beside you, holding your hand, and so you feel okay.

But of course it doesn't stay that way.

The film is some big hit, action-packed thriller, and because Steve heard some good things about it, you both agreed to watch it for your date night.

At first, its the gun shots that make you flinch. You have to calmly remind yourself that gunshots are not that big of a deal, and you've heard plenty in your lifetime to not be bothered by them.

But it doesn't stop there. The main character is tortured, twice. You watch the agony spread across the face of the tortured character, and you squeeze Steve's hand as hard as you can because you can relate. He knows it too, because in the dim light of the theatre, you see the worried glance he gives you.

The theatre is packed with people, you tell yourself. You're safe. Besides, now would not be a good time to freak out.

The scene changes and suddenly, it's a foreign country. There's a desert, and people are speaking in a strange language. One that you can almost recognize, because it sounds horribly familiar.

You squeeze your eyes shut, which is probably a bad idea because it makes things darker, and even worse. All you see is darkness and all you can hear is the gargled words of a foreigner, speaking what you think might be Arabic.

Breathing a little heavier than you should be, you open your eyes and try not to scream.

It's Raza. He's _there_. You can _see_ him, right on the screen, smiling darkly and holding a set of blueprints, his mouth moving as he spews his indecipherable language. His eyes, dark and evil, are staring right at you. Then, in your right ear, you hear him whisper your name in perfect English.

You jump from your seat and bolt out of the theatre. Your heart is pounding and you can't shake the ringing in your ears, hearing only whispers of Afghan languages.

Steve finds you in the public bathroom, kneeling on the floor and hunched over a toilet, heaving your guts out.

He sits beside you and rubs your back, waiting for you to finish throwing up. When you do, you sit up slowly, trying to calm down because you're shaking like crazy. Steve is staring at you in concern, regret and disappointment in his eyes because he warned you, and you said you'd be fine.

"I'm sorry," you choke out, and you bury your face in his shoulder and try not to cry, because on top of everything, you do NOT need that right now.

He helps you up and leads you to the sink. You shake your head when you catch sight of yourself in the mirror, because you look like shit, and Steve is right there next to you again, helping to clean up your mess.

"Don't be sorry," he finally says, as he watches you rinse out your mouth and wash your hands. Every move is slow and shaky, and it's not but ten minutes later when you finally emerge from the men's room, wearing your sunglasses and trying to leave the theatre in as casually of a fashion as possible.

You make it to the car and you collapse in the passenger seat, because just this once you think you'll let Steve handle the driving. You feel like a failure again, and you hate yourself for ruining yet another date. Steve seemed to be enjoying the movie too, and you're so selfish that you just had to spoil it for him.

You're stomach heaves in guilt, and you consider leaning out of the car and being sick again, because you feel absolutely terrible.

"When are you going to tell me what's going on?" Steve asks, sounding hurt and upset. He should be, because you're trying to hide this from him, when all he does is help you through it. He deserves to know, but you can't bring yourself to tell him the detailed, complicated truth without sounding like a complete psycho. And maybe you are.

"He was there..." You say instead, you're voice quiet and hoarse. You cringe because it sounds absolutely stupid, but Steve turns and stares at you, love and concern evident in those baby blue eyes.

"Who was there?" He asks gently, to which you barely manage to tell him it was Raza. Steve wants to ask who Raza is, but then he remembers that he read your file, and it suddenly all clicks into place.

"Oh Tony, I'm sorry." He says softly, reaching over and placing a warm hand on your knee. "It's my fault, I should've known that this movie had-"

"No," you say roughly, shaking your head. "It's mine. I couldn't fucking keep it together for two fucking hours because I'm too fucking pathetic."

Steve flinches at your cursing, but he doesn't give up. Persistent as always.

"Let's just say it's neither of our faults. We just need to be more careful."

You shake your head, because you don't want to make this a big issue. You can handle it yourself, like you always have.

Steve sighs and starts the car, pulling out of the parking lot and heading for home. You're glad he doesn't look at you again, because he doesn't notice the way you're digging your nails into the skin of your forearm. You flinch when blood cakes under your fingernails, but you don't stop because you deserve the pain and the reminder that you need to keep it together.

Halfway into the silent ride, Steve asks, "what can we do?"

You quickly hide your blood-stained finger tips and swiftly pull the sleeve of your jacket down, biting your lip as you feel even more guilty and dishonest.

"Let's go to the beach."


	2. Chapter 2

The beach is not the city, and it is not a desert.

You wonder if maybe, it will calm your terrible nerves, because it shouldn't bring back too many memories. That seems to be the problem anyway, things resurfacing and triggering your attacks.

While you would've loved to make the trip for just you and Steve, Clint caught word of your plans and decided to tell all the others. It seems then, that you're all going.

Exactly two days after your movie date with Steve, the entire team packs up and heads to the beach for a few days. As a sort of apology to Steve, you pay for the hotel and book suites for everyone, which you know won't be enough to make up for your shit, but it's a start.

You rent out a beach too, so that it's empty and private. You don't need any more publicity at the moment, thank you very much.

You wanted to go to California, but you feared it would bring back unwanted memories of Pepper, so therefore you decided on Costa Rica, because why the hell not?

Your jet lands and everyone hurries off eagerly, walking the short distance to the private beach, and then proceeding to unpack everything they brought for the day. The sand makes you wary, but the cool ocean breeze reminds you that this is not a desert, and with that you are at ease.

You and Steve hang back as the others rush ahead to set up their towels and umbrellas. Steve turns to you with a worried expression. You're tired of seeing that look on his face, so you look away and squint out at the waves, where you can already see Clint attempting to surf.

"You can stop that now, Cap. I'm fine."

Steve doesn't look convinced (again) but he leads you by the hand to the edge of the water, where you kick off your sandals and step into the shallow waves. It's refreshing but freezing, and you're pretty sure Thor and Clint are crazy for being so far out there, all the way up to their shoulders.

"I just don't want this to be another escape for you... Try to have fun, okay?"

Steve can see right through you, and you know this because it _is_ an escape. You came here to try and hide from the memories that the city usually evokes. No press, no people, no buildings, no smoke, no screams, no wormholes.

You tense when your mind wanders to the very things you fear. Steve looks at you again and you force yourself to relax, focusing on the cool feeling of the water between your toes. It's a while before the two of you move; you're content just standing side by side, hand in hand in the ankle-deep ocean.

Eventually, a huge wave comes close to the shore, and Steve tugs on your arm and pulls you away, laughing as you run out of it's reach. Thor and Clint tumble to shore with it, their surfboards still attached to their ankles despite the turmoil they've caught themselves in.

You laugh at the display, and they do too, because it's rare for you to smile and when they see that you are, they can't help but smile back.

Steve leads you back to where Natasha and Bruce are lounging in the sand. Natasha is trying to tan, and Bruce is eating a slice of watermelon, staring out at the water. He turns to you when you approach and fixes you with a serious gaze.

"I heard you had a hard time at the movies a few days ago?" He asks through a mouthful of watermelon, although it's more of a statement. You glare at a sheepish Steve because you trusted him to keep his mouth shut.

"I was worried." Steve says quickly, to which you roll your eyes behind your sunglasses and cross your arms.

"Don't get mad at him, I'm glad he said something. What exactly happened?" Bruce says in his defense, tossing his watermelon rind aside.

You curl your toes into the burning sand and try to keep your breathing even. You did not come to the beach to talk about things you were trying to get away from. The last thing you need is freakin Dr. Banner to coddle you.

"Nothing, I'm fine." You say quickly. Nearby, you can tell that Natasha is eavesdropping.

"I didn't ask if you were fine, I asked what happened." He counters evenly, his tone serious.

"Ate some bad popcorn.." You offer lamely, but Steve nudges you and tells Bruce that you hadn't eaten anything at the theater, actually.

"Can you be honest with me?" Bruce says through ground teeth, and you flinch back because you can tell that he's agitated.

"I just felt...unwell, that's all. I didn't want to finish the movie." At least it's honest, because it really did happen that way. Steve rolls his eyes and mouths to Bruce that he'll explain later. Bruce probably already knows anyway, he just wants you to admit it, and no, you won't because you aren't ready for that yet. And you never will be.

Even though you don't want to leave the shade, and the comfortable atmosphere under the umbrella, the conversation makes you edgy so you stand quickly and brush the sand off your shorts. As calmly as you can manage you say loudly, "look, I really don't want to talk about it right now. Or ever. So can I please enjoy this vacation before I send you all back home?"

Steve and Bruce start to protest, with a lot of "aww Tony"s, but you pointedly ignore them and head down to the water again, grimacing because of the bright sun and your now-sour-mood. Thor waves to you from out on his board, and Clint is sitting at the edge of the water, waiting for a good set of waves.

He greets you as you sit beside him, but then does a double take as he immediately catches sight of your arm.

"What's that?" He asks, motioning to your scratches. Your breath catches in your throat as you shift to a position where he can't see them, cursing yourself for not realizing that _Hawkeye_ was bound to notice.

"Nothing to worry about, buttercup," you brush off casually, but you don't bother lying because the nail marks are pretty obvious. It was probably a bad idea to wear a tank top anyway. Clint opens his mouth to say something more but he stops when you stand up in a flustered manner.

"I'm fine." You're not, and Clint looks angry suddenly, because you know that he can see right through you, like Steve can when you're like this.

"Tony, you aren't. I think you need to explain this." He reaches up to touch the cuts, and you lurch back, your eyes wide in disbelief. 'No!' You want to say, but your tongue feels heavy in your mouth and therefore you can't. You shake your head at him, and turn to walk away, because you can't handle this conversation.

Quite frankly, you're embarrassed and _afraid._ You can't let people in like this; you can't have anyone see your scars, both physically _and_ mentally.

Clint stands as well, and tries to walk after you, but you make it as obvious as possible that you want to be alone. Maybe you look childish for literally stomping off in the opposite direction, but you're pissed that everyone is in your business, and you're pretty sure you came here to NOT be pestered. You clench your fists, thinking that your team is nearly as bad as the press.

But maybe they just care... They aren't asking to be nosy (you hope), but rather they're concerned about

the way you've been acting, because some of your attacks haven't been very subtle.

And now Clint probably knows a secret you've managed to keep, even from Steve.

You glance behind you as you walk further down the beach, away from everyone else, satisfied to see that Clint has not followed you.

Soon enough, the sound of the hot wind and the roaring ocean drowns out your thoughts, and it's not but an hour later when you decide to turn back around.

* * *

The hotel you're staying in is luxurious and large, just the way you like it. Every room views the ocean, as it's practically on the beach itself. With white and gold interior, high ceilings and elegant chandeliers, it's everything you hoped it would be.

You've rented the entire top floor (as it contains only suites), and you and Steve get to share the biggest, at the very end of the extensive hallway.

You enter the room and toss your luggage carelessly on the floor, spinning around the massive space and savoring the fresh hotel scent. Steve, who's still in his sandy bathing suit, declares he's going to take a shower. You want to join him, but you decide against it when you remember your fresh armful of cuts. It takes practiced skill (and a strategically placed beach towel) to hide them from Steve, and thus far he has yet to mention them. You're glad for that, but you don't shower with him because it leaves you too vulnerable, and too exposed.

When Steve disappears into the bathroom, you shed your swimming trunks and pull on a fresh pair of boxers and jeans, as well as a cotton long-sleeved shirt. It's too hot for that, but you won't take your chances.

Steve knows that after Afghanistan, you sometimes harmed yourself as a distraction, from everything that resurfaced as a result of your traumatizing time spent as a hostage. You'd been clean for years, but recently, it's been harder to resist old habits.

You consider this as you walk slowly around the room, pulling back the crisp white curtains and opening the windows. The setting sun casts an orange-pink glow in the room, and you stand there for the longest time, simply staring out at the sand and the ocean if only to enjoy the beautiful view. There is a surplus of windows in this suite, and most are floor-to-ceiling. The largest one, nearly taking up an entire wall, opens to a vast and elegant balcony. You have the French double doors propped open, and the cool, wet breeze that blows in makes you shiver in blissful delight.

You aren't really the type to enjoy scenery and views, but for some reason, the suite really leaves you breathless. Every asset of the room (which is really more like a house) is sleek and modern, yet it has a fancy, old and elegant feel to it as well. The pristine whites and metallic golds make the space feel almost homey, yet...rich.

Every light fixture, pillow, bottle of wine, and furniture piece is perfect, down to the last detail, and although you're used to this kind of luxury, you still feel a surge of excitement because it's like you're on top of the world. It's a welcomed change in oppose to the crushing weight you've become so accustomed to.

There's an enthusiastic knock and then Hawkeye bursts into the room, twirling around with a dazed look on his face.

"Dude, there's a frickin hot tub in the bathroom!" He shouts excitedly, as Natasha strolls in behind him, causally leaning against the massive door frame.

You stare, a little stunned by the sudden entrance and the rude intrusion. Clint is still flailing his arms and gaping at his surroundings, his sharp eyes scanning everything in the room.

"Hey, no fair! Your bed is bigger than mine..!" He declares, pulling a pout, while still managing to look like he wants to start jumping on said bed.

"Of course it is, dumb ass." Natasha deadpans, coming up behind him and nudging him suggestively, a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

You want to blush and turn away from their smirks, but instead you roll your eyes and wave dismissively.

"You two are welcome to utilize it whenever you'd like. Just give me a warning." Your tone is teasing but serious, and the looks on their faces are priceless. It successfully shuts them up, however, and they mention something about getting dinner as they exit the room and close the door behind them.

Steve comes out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist and a smile on his face. "I never expected showers to have four faucets in the

twenty-first century, but again I am surprised."

You smile because he is so naive and adorable, not to mention incredibly alluring with the way his muscles are exposed, and how his hair clings to his forehead and drips water onto his nose. You're reminded of how much you don't deserve him, because he's so perfect and you're so...you. With your messy beach hair, and your damned long-sleeve shirt, you feel a little embarrassed, and it's not something you're entirely used to.

"I'm gonna shower too.." You say, and ignore the look on his face, because it's suspicious and mildly offended.

"You know, it's big enough for two people..." He calls after you, obviously disappointed that you didn't join him. You're quite aware of the fact that it could easily fit _five_ people, but you stay silent as you close and lock the door behind you.

Trying your best to ignore the guilt stirring in your gut, you pull off your shirt and stare at yourself in the mirror, a deep frown pulling at your lips.

You've lost a lot of weight recently, and you don't like the way you can see a few of your ribs, because you feel unhealthy and poor. Your hips are defined by the thin line of the bone, and for a moment you're disgusted for allowing yourself to get so thin.. But you haven't been eating much, and while you're certain you don't have depression, JARVIS has tried to tell you otherwise.

Your gaze settles on the reactor in your chest, and you cringe at the scars littered around it's edges. Although Steve has kissed you there and promised that you're still beautiful, it's the reason why you don't like many people looking at it, despite those who beg. Other scars decorate your body as well, like the faded collection on your thighs, or the ones on your wrists. They're from years ago, but they remind you of the past constantly, and invite you to add more sometimes.

You look at the gruesome scratches that you made with your nails a few days back, and realize that you weren't even really aware that you had done it. It was a punishment at the time, for being so pathetic over a _movie_ , and you realize now that it was probably a bad decision. They're angry and red and scabbed over, and you're lucky you're experienced enough to know how to hide them, from most people. You have a feeling that everyone except Steve and Thor noticed them, and you're ashamed suddenly that you gave in to playing an old game, one that you can never win.

Turning away from the mirror, you toss the rest of your clothes aside and step into the shower, hoping that the burning hot stream of water will help you get your head on straight.

* * *

You don't want sex that night, so you're laying on your back in the massive bed that you and Steve share, staring at the ceiling as you listen to the sound of the nearby ocean. The team had gone out for dinner after your shower, and after a luxurious sea food feast, you all retired to your rooms for the night.

Steve sleeps soundly beside you, and you're careful not to wake him as you slide out of bed and tiptoe to the balcony. You left all the windows open and you exhale calmly as the salty breeze blows the white curtains about. The room is basked in the blue light of the nearly-full moon, and the cold, wet air causes tingling to creep across your body. You've become terribly restless as of late, and you prefer to pace in the darkness or stare out a window, rather than sleep.

On the spacious balcony, you swing your legs over the railing and sit, relishing the feeling of the cool breeze between your toes, as you kick your legs out and grip the railing on either side of your ass. Far below you is endless sand, and you laugh darkly because it would be so ironic if you were to die in such a horrible substance. Oh how you _hate_ sand _._

You make a game out of seeing how far you can lean out before a burst of wind always pushes you back, as if it's trying to save you from yourself. A few times, you shudder as the sensation of falling overcomes you, but every time you open your eyes, you're still staring out at the ocean and the moon, and you're still gripping the railing with white knuckles.

"Tony..?" A quiet gasp behind you breaks your trance, and you turn around, wobbling slightly on the thin banister.

"I thought you were asleep," you say softly, noticing the way the moon glints off of Steve's concerned, widened eyes.

"Super hearing.." He reminds you distractedly, tapping his ear for emphasis. You frown because you know that he always pretends not to hear you when you pace at night, or moan during a nightmare. You're certain he probably hears you crying sometimes, but he never wakes because he knows that you don't want him to see you like that.

You're about to reply, but he steps forward shyly, as if he's afraid of startling you and says softly, "you weren't going to jump...were you?"

You're silent for too long, because Steve suddenly looks panicked as he comes towards you, arms outstretched as if to catch you.

"Tony.." He says lowly in warning, his eyes already taking on that pitying look of disappointment that you HATE. You swallow the lump in your throat and turn back around, peeking down at the long drop below, because you're thirty-four floors up.

"I wasn't going to jump," you reply softly, as Steve comes up behind you and places his hands on your hips. He squeezes a little too tightly and you can already feel the bruises forming, but you don't mind because it brings you back to reality. Maybe you would've jumped... You aren't entirely sure, and it scares you because you really might have.

You want to believe that you aren't going to take the easy way out. Tony Stark will not go down that easily, because you've been through too much already. You have a reputation and suicide seems _pathetic_... You despise the word itself.

And yet...while you want to believe that, you can't, because you loved the exhilaration of being so close to the edge, and part of you wanted to see what would happen if you leaned forward just a little bit further. You look at Steve again and see his expression, so you bite your lip and tell him that you're fine, and assure him again that you aren't going to jump.

Effortlessly, Steve snakes his arms around your torso and lifts you off the railing, turning you around so that you're facing him. He grips your hips in a way that keeps for from leaning back and falling, and you suddenly find comfort in the fact that he is once again your support.

"Steve.." You say affectionately, your voice soft and broken. He tilts his head to look at you, and because of the way you're sitting on the railing, you're nearly eye level.

"I'm so worried about you." He says before you can continue. You sigh and look away because you're a let down. The only thing you're good at is failing sometimes, it seems.

"I know." You say simply, because it's easy to agree with him when you're staring into those big, blue eyes of his. He frowns a little, but then the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile and you know that everything will be ok.

"Here, let's get you back to bed," he says gently, and you want to protest because he's mothering you again, but your feet are already on the ground and he's taking your hand and leading you back inside.

Strong arms wrap around you and a warm body hugs you from behind. Instinctively, you lean into the touch and sigh.

For a moment, you consider sex, but your body is craving strong alcoholic bliss instead of a few moments of Steve-induced pleasure. It's selfish maybe, but you know alcohol better than anything, and a strong shot of Macallan sounds better than sexual release at the moment.

When Steve's breaths even out and slow to a gentle rhythm, you untangle yourself from his arms and slip out of bed. One room service call later, and you're sitting on the railing of the balcony again, tipping your head back and downing the strong, burning liquid.

It feels good. Familiar.

You avoid getting drunk, because hangovers are killer, and so you're just a little more than tipsy by the time you stumble back into bed and collapse next to Steve. Your body tingles and sways in the way you love, and you barely hear Steve as he whispers, "you smell like alcohol."

You snort, because you know he's awake, and he knows what you've been doing. "That's because I've been drinking," you reply simply, because you know that your boyfriend's enhanced senses wouldn't buy any other excuse you could come up with.

"There's other ways," he says, turning to face you. The effort it takes to open your heavy eyelids is embarrassing.

"You don't think I know that?" You say eventually. His blue eyes stare into your dark brown, barely lucid ones. There's hardly a foot of space between your faces, and Steve's cool breath tickles your nose in a way that drives you mad.

"I don't like when you drink," he says with a frown, and for a moment, guilt sucks the air from your lungs. You cover up your vulnerability with a smug grin.

"Steve, you of all people know I can handle it."

"Like you could handle that movie?"

His response is instant, cutting you deep like a knife. You sit up, ignoring the spinning room at the sudden movement. You stare straight ahead numbly, your heart racing, your breathing steadily increasing.

Steve sits up beside you, eyes wide as he realizes his mistake.

"Tony, I didn't-,"

You shove off the hand he places on your shoulder, not even sparing him a glance. Silently, mouth slightly agape, eyes wide and head swimming, you stumble back out of the bed and go to the balcony again. Sheets rustle behind you as Steve follows behind you, trying to get your attention.

His voice is desperate, raising in volume each time he calls your name. You can hardly hear him over the ringing in your ears, as you numbly sink to your knees and cling to the railing, your eyes stinging as you stare out at the dark ocean shore.

Steve sits beside you, placing a hand on your knee and leaning close to you. You can't look at him. It hurts.. It _stings_. His simple words triggered something, and you're close to another panic attack, which will be worsened by the alcohol stirring in your gut.

"Tony, look at me." The desperation tempts you, but you don't. He sighs and continues, placing a cold hand on your cheek. It startles you, and you want to push him away, but your knuckles are white from gripping the bars and it feels impossible to move.

"I didn't mean that. I'm sorry Tony, I wasn't thinking." Steve's apology isn't enough. You're angry, and numb, and your emotions are spiraling out of control.

Unwillingly, your head lolls to the side and you're forced to look at him. The regret in his gaze physically burns into your skin, and you want to accept his apology, but you're not sure that you can.

In a sudden burst of unknown emotions, you push a shocked Steve to the ground and slam your lips against his, kissing him passionately and desperately. Steve makes a noise of surprise, unable to respond as you attack his mouth. Slowly, Steve's hands grip your waist, and you're lost in pleasure, forgiving and forgetting in only a brief moment.

"Tony..you're drunk..!" Steve gasps against your lips, hesitance leaking through the passionate display. You push into him further and move your chapped lips against his soft, thin ones, letting the stubble on your chin tease him in the way you know he likes.

"I'm not.." You manage, your lips never leaving his. You allow Steve to sit up, keeping his arms around you as your kisses slow to a gentler pace. He kisses you leisurely now, and because you suddenly feel drained, you allow his warm lips to do all the work.

Steve senses the change and helps you stand, cradling you to his chest as he again leads you back into bed.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, and this time you accept it, because you're too tired to be upset anymore, and Steve has a way of making things better with his eager kissing and supportive embraces.

"I love you," you mutter, and Steve doesn't reply because he knows that it's something you rarely say. Your clouded mind must have betrayed you, because it seems to think that he said it back, and now he's kissing your neck and lulling you to sleep with his warmth.

And finally, you get a decent amount of sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

The city brings back reality.

Vacations are done and over, the team has gone back to their normal tower-living lives, and you and Steve carry on as though nothing is wrong.

Work has you stressed, and every second of free time you get is spent tinkering, drinking, or both. Steve tells you that he doesn't like the routine you've gotten yourself into, but you laugh and tell him that it's no different from what you've always done. Maybe it's because you've been avoiding the team, and skipping meals, and declining sex. Steve has always been able to read the subtle signs that indicate something is wrong.

What Steve doesn't know, is that alone in your lab, you're comforted by the too-loud playing of Black Sabbath, the calm voice of JARVIS, and the company of you're suits. He doesn't know that eating makes you want to puke, being in the company of others makes you edgy, and sex makes you vulnerable. Anxiety has wrapped itself around your insides, and it squeezes you like a python at the most inconvenient of times. You hate your reflection, and can only stand to look at it when you're drunk. Sleep doesn't come easily, and Steve has spent several nights awake and worrying when you don't come to bed.

You want him to understand what it's like, but there's no point in explaining what goes on in your head, so you don't.

Bruce spends some time with you in the lab, and while you mostly work in silence and avoid meeting each other's gaze, you won't admit that you enjoy his company.

You're with him now, working in separate areas of the lab, silence stretched between you save for the AC/DC that plays via JARVIS. The lack of talking isn't unpleasant by any means, but you can help but feel mildly on edge around him. You can only assume he'll want to break the silence with conversation that will inevitably lead to excessive questioning, and you don't want to go there right now.

As expected, Bruce comes over your shoulder and looks at what you're working on, his breath tickling your neck in a way that makes you shiver. It's not what you had anticipated, and you want to lean away from the closeness, but for some reason you can't. His scent and body heat has you captivated, and you're frozen in a trance as his fingers glide across yours to touch the tool that's caught in your grasp. You must be trembling because Bruce pushed himself against you and mutters something in your ear.

"Br-Bruce," you begin, but he turns to look at you with his chest still pressed against your back and you're instantly silenced because the lust in his eyes sends your heart into your throat.

"I think you need a break Tony," he says softly, prying the tool from your fingers and placing it on your work station. You stare at your shaking hands and try to swallow, but your mouth is impossibly dry and you feel like you're choking.

Just as Bruce is leaning just a little bit closer, JARVIS's voice booms through the speakers, grabbing your attention with a forceful, "sir!"

You gasp out a breath you didn't knew you were holding as Bruce lurches away from you, turning around quickly and picking up a screwdriver to fiddle with.

"Yes J?" You ask in an embarrassingly strained voice, your heart racing and your face burning.

"Captain Rogers has requested to see you upstairs." You roll your eyes because you've told the AI a million times to call him Steve, yet he has seldom honored the request.

"Ok," you say quickly, and scurry out of the lab with your head down.

You don't immediately find Steve, but instead you make a beeline for the bathroom. After locking the door, you splash cold water onto your face and gasp for air, willing your heart to _slow down..._ You stare at yourself long and hard in the mirror, taking note of the sweat that slides down the sides of your face, and the widening of your eyes as your chest rises and falls rapidly.

What. The hell. Was that?!

Your mind is screaming at you, demanding answers. Was it all in your head, or was Bruce actually...?

You shake your head because you refuse to believe any of it for a second. It must have been your imagination. Bruce isn't... He doesn't...

A harsh knock makes you jump, and your heart is pounding all over again. It's beginning to hurt from being overworked; you can practically _feel_ the shrapnel scraping against your insides, and you're barely managing to contain the moans of pain that are itching in the back of your throat.

"Hey, Tones, you okay?" You sigh in relief because it's only Steve, and with a relieved sigh you tear open the door and pull him into a hug. He's a little shocked, but the embrace is hesitantly returned, and so you stand in the doorway of the bathroom with your arms wrapped around his neck, and his hands resting on your lower back.

"How are things in the lab?"

You swallow and silently pray that JARVIS hadn't showed him any security footage. You relax because maybe he's just asking for the sake of small talk, and so you reply with a snort and say that you're having trouble getting anything done. You're suits don't need any work, and so you've simply been tinkering. It's satisfying, but pointless, and now you're too worked up to go back down there with Bruce. You're grateful that J usually knows when you need an excuse to get away.

"Do you need a break?"

You stare at him incredulously, trying to see what kind of game he's playing at. Does he know? Either way, you feel yourself sweating again, and it take all your willpower to keep the nonchalant smile on your face.

"Why do you ask? You're not lonely, are you Steve?" You're smirking, and you're tone is light, but inside you're begging him to say yes, that's all it is Tony, I'm lonely.

"I just miss seeing you. You're locking yourself away from everyone except Bruce and it's really unhealthy." He says, his brows furrowed and arms crossed.

You want to tell him to stop worrying, because there's nothing unhealthy about what you're doing, but suddenly there's footsteps behind you, and you know without looking that it's Bruce coming up the stairs.

"You might be onto something Rogers," you say quickly, slinging an arm around his shoulders and leading him in the opposite direction. He shoots you a questioning look, but you make it very clear that your intentions are getting somewhere private, so he complies and allows you to practically drag him to the kitchen.

"Are you hungry, I'm hungry." You say quickly, scrambling to get food even though, no, you aren't hungry. Steve knows this because he's at your side in a second, grabbing your arm and prying a bag of chips from your fingers. He stares at you, his scrutinizing blue eyes searching your face and analyzing your every move.

"Tony, is everything ok?"

No, dammit! No no no, you're not ok! Bruce tried to make a pass at you, you're certain of it, and you're not hungry you're going to throw up if you eat, but here you are and Steve's staring at you and now he can see that you're absolutely hysterical, and oh God you can't breathe, you can't handle this what's happening you're going to pass out shit now you're shaking and oh great is that Clint you hear? Dammit dammit dam-

"Tony! Look at me."

Ok good, that's Steve and he's going to help you through this. You're safe, you're fine, he's not going to hurt you and you're in love with him so he can touch you even though his skin feels like fire against yours and Bruce isn't here, but you shouldn't be afraid of him because he's you're friend but then what the hell did he just try to pull? Steve help, oh God Steve make it stop.

"It's nothing, just a little cabin fever." Denial, that's ok, that's fine. Steve isn't staring anymore, he's causally looking, and Clint is watching the exchange but it's ok because you're at home and you're just fine. That's it, breathe.

"I need some coffee," you say, and Steve closes his mouth and nods, because he's about to ask you what he can do to help, but it seems like he's got his answer. You're okay now.

Shakily, you put the chips away, turn to Clint and give him an unconvincing smile, then take Steve's hand and stumble out of the kitchen, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, all the while squeezing the shit out of Steve's sweaty hand but it's ok because he can handle it.

"Tony, what happened down there?" Ah, the questions. As expected.

"I told you I'm fine."

"Tony you looked like you were going to faint! This is a big deal, and I don't like you lying about it." He stops walking and forces you to look at him. Ok, this is exactly what you don't want.

"I'm not lying! I'm fine!" You're nearly yelling, and Steve looks offended because you aren't really angry at him, but he doesn't know that. You're angry at yourself, and at Bruce, and maybe even Steve a little bit because he just won't stop pestering you. You're gnawing on your lip and trying to remain as strong as possible. You're Tony Stark, and you aren't allowed to be weak, and pathetic, and vulnerable, and oh look now your composure is crumbling and you're barely able to keep eye contact with Steve.

"Just stop lying! Tell me what's going on!" Now he's the one who's yelling, and you can't admit that it stings but dammit, that look in his eyes is killing you on the inside. Why are you lying to him? Because you're afraid of him knowing the truth? Will he hate you if he knows all that goes on inside of your head?

"You're all that I have," you blurt out. It's irrelevant, and it doesn't answer his question, and maybe you're stalling, but it's the truest statement you've spoken all day, and so it'll have to do.

Steve looks baffled, startled even, as he blinks and presses his palm to your forehead.

"Tony," he gasps, his eyes wide with concern, "you're burning up..!"

If someone asked, you'd say that you laughed, but it was more accurate to call it as sob as Steve laced his fingers in yours and dragged you to your room, marching right past Bruce who had apparently been nearby the whole time.

You're too shocked and numb to react, so you allow Steve to lock the door to your bedroom and strip you down to your boxers. He forces you to lay down as he disappears and comes back with cold water, a wet washcloth, and a bottle of medicine. He prompts you to sit up and take some pills, painkillers you assume, and then he encourages you to drink the whole glass of ice cold water. It's hard to swallow, but you do anyway, and you even let Steve wipe some of it off your chin, as it dribbles down your goatee and drips into his waiting palm.

"Take it slow," he shushes, as you lay back down and allow him to place the washcloth on your forehead. It's freezing cold and sends goosebumps shooting down your arms, but you try your hardest to relax because it should help to break your fever.

Steve pulls the blankets around you, and although you're sweaty and hot, you don't protest as he sits beside you on the bed. He watches you for a while, and you watch him back, an unspoken conversation passing between your guarded expression and his openly apologetic one. You can tell that he's sorry, and more than likely blaming himself for giving you a fever. It's ridiculous, but you wonder if maybe he really did. It didn't start until the questioning did, but you're certain that your current predicament was the result of a lot of things combined.

"Should we call a doctor?" You're pulled from your thoughts when Steve breaks the thick silence with another dreaded question.

"No doctors." You say quickly, propping yourself up on your elbows. "I'm fine."

"Okay, okay. But stop saying that you're fine when you clearly aren't! You're pale and shivering and you're laying in bed with a fever for gosh sake's. That's far from fine."

There's no use arguing, so you don't. Suddenly, you're eyelids are feeling heavy, and you would love nothing more than to fall asleep in the cold, dark room with Steve sitting safely beside you. Giving in to your aching body, you close your eyes and mumble something to Steve about needing to sleep. To your surprise, he shifts quietly on the bed until he's laying beside you, while still maintaining a respectable distance.

No more words are spoken between you, and it suits you just fine. Surrounded by heat, and cold, and a comfortable silence, you allow yourself to relax into a blissful slumber that may or may not have been the first time you've slept in an entire week...

* * *

Later in the day, Clint and Natasha stop by to see how you're doing. You appreciate the gesture, but Steve isn't around when you wake up and being in the presence of others without him being there is off-setting. It's strange, because it's never been that way before, but you've noticed that you've been having more and more trouble confronting people lately, and Steve and JARVIS are the only ones you feel safe talking to.

Bruce was easy to communicate with as well, but thinking of him makes your skin crawl.

"How are you feeling?" Natasha's tight voice breaks your train of thought. Bleary-eyed and shaky, you manage to smile and say with a cough, "down, but not out."

Clint looks like he has questions, but he stays uncharacteristically silent and fiddles with his fingers. His sharp eyes dart around the room cautiously, always analyzing, always on edge.

"Of course," Natasha says with a smirk, shaking her head at your predicted resilience. Although you wonder why the hell you came down with a fever and chills, you're not going to let it beat you.

A sharp knock echoes through the awkwardly quiet room, and then the door cracks open to reveal a determined looking Bruce. "I don't mean to bother you guys, but can I talk to Tony alone for a sec?"

Natasha and Clint look a little weary, but they leave quietly and shut the door behind them, leaving just you and Bruce.

"Hey." He says, moving to sit on the edge of your bed. You swallow the lump forming in the back of your throat and shudder with nausea, trying to keep your face blank through your obvious nerves.

There's silence, and you wonder desperately where the hell Steve is.

"Uhm, about earlier.." He takes off his glasses and cleans the lens on his shirt. You recognize it as an action of uncertainty- something he does when he's nervous. Why the hell should _he_ be nervous, you think. You're not the one who-

"Maybe my actions were unclear."

They were pretty clear to you.

"I probably shouldn't have overstepped my boundaries.."

Damn right you shouldn't have.

"What I'm trying to say is..."

Well now you're scared, because he's moving closer to you and reaching for your hand. You're throat tightens and you try to pull away, but the fever has weakened you and so you can only let him grasp your hand and stare into your eyes. You take a deep breath to ask him what the hell he thinks he's doing, but the familiar flash of green in his eyes silences you.

"I know how you feel about Steve, but don't think he's the only one who cares about you."

He lets go of you and stands, averting his gaze as he steps towards the door. Wanting to call after him and ask him what he means by that, you open your mouth and reach towards him, but as soon as you blink, he's gone. Wondering if you were hallucinating, you lay back down on the pillow and cover your eyes with your hand, choking out a sob of discomfort.

Where's Steve when you need him?

Thor comes in after Bruce leaves and stands awkwardly in the doorway, looking unsure of how to proceed. You're covering your eyes with your forearm, and taking ragged breaths as you try to calm your trembling body. On top of your fever and anxiety, an unexplainable fear of human interaction has you wishing you could disappear.

The unmistakeable voice of Thor greets you, and you take a shuddering breath before you find the courage and strength to sit up in bed.

"Friend Tony, how art thou?" You laugh because his dramatic way of speaking is probably an attempt to cheer you up. A smile splits Thor's face as he comes beside your bed, and it's then that you realize he's holding something.

"Rogers is making some kind of liquid meal for you, but I have brought you some coffee." He announces, handing you a mug of room temperature, black coffee. How sweet, he knows just how you like it.

"Soup." You say with a smile, as you take a long drink.

"I beg your pardon?"

Chuckling, you glance at Thor's confused expression and smile because he sure knows how to be adorable, even when he doesn't try. "It's what Steve's probably making. It's called soup."

"Soup.." Thor tests the word on his tongue, smiling gleefully. "I shall try this soup you speak of!"

With another laugh, you bring the mug back to your lips and sip some more coffee, restraining yourself from chugging it because you're stomach is already twisted up in knots. "You do that, big guy."

Thor leaves with a dramatic 'farewell' and leaves you again in silence. You're pleased to discover that you're actually feeling a lot better than you were, and you can't help but feel grateful to the thunder god for always possessing the ability to lift anyone's spirits.

* * *

"Tony, what are you doing out of bed?"

On second thought, you don't really know why you came down the the kitchen, but maybe it had something to do with feeling lonely and helpless, and you just want to feel like a human being again. You're done being a charity case.

"I'm allowed to get out of bed, Cap." You say smoothly, but really, you're almost regretting that decision, because dizziness and lightheaded-ness is not what you signed up for.

"Well fine, but here, at least eat something."

He pushes a bowl of fresh soup in front of you and gives you a pleading look. You'll admit that you haven't eaten much for the past week, and while Steve's lovely bowl of homemade soup certainly smells tempting, you really don't feel up to eating it.

"Tony, please." He must see the look of disgust on your face as you stare at the bowl of clear, yellow liquid.

"Looks like piss..."

Steve rolls his eyes. "How mature Tony, it's chicken broth. Don't tell me you don't know what that is."

Oh, you do. You just don't want anything, is that so terrible? The hollow feeling in your stomach has become something that you're accustomed to, and it's almost become an addictive sort of thing. A little nagging thought in the back of your mind tells you that you shouldn't feel that way. It's unnatural, and unhealthy, and hey isn't it sort of like an eating disorder to not want to..?

"Fine, but I want to eat down in the shop."

Steve seems hesitant to let you, but he's satisfied that you're at least being cooperative, so he busies himself with cleaning up the kitchen and waves you off. Grabbing the bowl and a spoon, you head down to your lab to work for a few hours. You need to clear your head anyhow.

Later that day, Thor comes down to thank you for the 'bowl of liquid deliciousness.'


	4. Chapter 4

A few days later, it's back to the swing of things.

You've been spending more time out at work, because spending so much time in the tower with the team has been everything but beneficial.

Steve worries, but that's nothing new.

Stark Industries isn't really your thing anymore, but since your name is still plastered on everything, you're not told to leave when you stroll in like you own the place (oh wait, you do). In fact, whenever you walk into meetings and conferences, you're still greeted like a celebrity and given a standing ovation for simply making an appearance.

It's all camera flashes and smiles and sunglasses from then on out, and although a typical day tends to exhaust you, it's worth it because you feel important and appreciated, and it's really a nice feeling for once.

You come home late almost always, and it usually takes you a few minutes of stumbling around in the dark before Steve will turn on the lights and admit to waiting up for you, like in some sort of cliché movie.

At first, it's irritating, because he must not trust you, and it's a while until you find the gesture to be thoughtful.

Steve goes about his routine as well.

Early morning runs, eating healthy but nearly excessively in order to keep up with his outrageous metabolism. You're jealous sometimes, because how the hell can he eat 3 burgers and still keep that perfect figure?

But you've lost interest in food altogether. It only sounds appealing when you're alone, with that empty feeling in your gut, and it's begging you to fill it to the point of bursting, but the outcome will be even more painful, so you avoid eating all together.

Steve may or may not have taken notice, but it's the least of his problems. Sex hasn't happened in weeks, and while he wants nothing more than to respect you and give you space, it's getting to him, and you can tell.

Especially since it's worrying him, and you can see it on his face every time you climb into bed beside him, and stay strictly on _your_ side of the mattress. He's yet to question you about it, so for now, you figure you're ok, but it can't be like that forever.

The eating thing seems to have become more of a problem, however, because there's been more than a few times where you've almost fainted, and JARVIS has even started urging you to take breaks and eat. As much as you hate to give the AI any sort of satisfaction, blueberries and room temperature coffee usually do the trick. Nonetheless, you feel disgusting whenever that emptiness goes away, so you usually take a laxative help things play out.

But then, there's Bruce, who you haven't seen in quite a few days. He's never down in the lab, but JARVIS has informed you that he's only there when you aren't. It angers you to think that he's making an effort to avoid you, but part of you is glad that it leaves one less thing for you to stress over.

And luckily, stress hasn't really been weighing you down lately. Maybe it's the constant, carefree cycle of: go somewhere, smile for the camera, switch sports cars for every new event, avoid eating, keep smiling, etc, etc. As tiring as it is, it keeps you distracted and occupied, and a busy Stark is a happy Stark.

* * *

Your food issues seem to have gotten more out of control than you actually intended. It's been quite a few weeks since you've actually eaten a normal portion of normal food, and JARVIS is at the point of begging you to 'nourish your mortal part.'

It worsens on the night the team decides to throw a going away party for Thor, who recently announced he would be going back to Asgard for awhile. It disappoints everyone, but there's smiles and laughter, and for old times sake, shawarma.

Everyone expects you to order something, and although you're absolutely terrified by the thought of having to eat something, you order, because they all know by now that you like shawarma.

You can do this, you think, because so what if you haven't eaten anything except coffee and blueberries all week? You can handle one meal. But oh look, here comes the waitress, and holy shit that's a lot of food.

The others dig in, but you don't because you're staring at your plate still and trying to muster up the courage to take a bite. The laugher and conversations that you're hardly apart of stop when Clint laughs and waves his fork at you.

"What'sa matter, Tones? Don't like shawarma anymore? You look like you're gonna hurl."

The others take it as a joke and chuckle on cue as you roll your eyes and keep a perfectly composed expression, despite the fact that your hands are shaking in your lap under the table.

"Nah, I just had a big lunch," you say nonchalantly, and you're pretty sure the rest of them buy it, except for Steve who nudges you under the table and grabs your attention.

"You told me earlier that you 'forgot' to eat today. Remember?"

You blink. Oh yeah, maybe you did say that, because he was going on and on about how he's noticed that you never have meals anymore, and such a simple excuse actually shut him up for once.

Steve glances nervously at the others (who are luckily preoccupied with listening to Thor's loud and exaggerated story telling about times on Asgard) before dropping his voice to a whisper.

"Tony, is there something you need to tell me?"

You shoot him an annoyed look and try to appear as interested in the Thunder god at the head of the table as you can.

"If there was, now wouldn't be the time."

Steve leans back and looks at you incredulously, pursing his lips as he examines your face. You're grateful that you've become a master of masking your emotions, otherwise he might be able to tell that Hawkeye's earlier observation was spot on.

"And that's why they banned bread for a whole week!"

You laugh along with everyone else, although you have no idea what Thor is even talking about. And while everyone's attention (except Steve's) is temporarily averted from you, you seize the opportunity to slowly take a bite of your food, because it will at least keep Steve off your case for a little longer.

Maybe you should be telling him the truth, because he deserves honesty, but you can't ever bring yourself to explain things. He'll want an answer as to _why_ you aren't eating, and you aren't entirely sure that you have that good of a reason. He won't buy whatever excuses you can offer, and then you'll have to explain more than you want to.

So, Tony, why aren't you eating? You don't know. It scares you a little, because you really aren't sure.

At first, it took some effort to control yourself from binging- you were really tempted sometimes. You actually gave in on a few occasions, but you don't want to go there again. Even if you did, food doesn't sound appealing in the slightest now.

Steve keeps watching you throughout the remainder of the night as you choke down only half of your plate. Twice, you try to retreat to the bathroom, but your boyfriend promptly pulls you back down, and with a grunt of pain and defeat, you're forced to stay glued to your seat.

Finally, after too long, everyone stands and says their final goodbyes to Thor. It's harder than you thought to see the big guy off, but it's comforting to know that he won't be gone for too long. Plus, he'll know to come back if he's needed.

By the time you get back to the tower, Thor is gone already, and all the others seem ready to retire for the night. Things seem surprisingly empty without Thor, because without him, it leaves only you and Steve, Natasha and Clint, and then Bruce.

Clint wants to have a Lord of the Rings marathon, but someone brings up that it's not fair to watch Thor's favorite movies without him, and besides, it's too late for that anyhow.

Regardless, everyone ends up in the living room, lounging on the couches with junk food and blankets, already halfway into the second movie.

You wish you could enjoy the time with your team, but you're too busy staring at the food laid out in front of you. You're tempted to shove it all down your throat until you're in so much pain that it will come back up, but the presence of your teammates makes you think twice.

Since you're laying on the floor with Steve beside you, all the others are on the couch, blocked from view via coffee table. Part of you wants to give in and eat, but you've fucked yourself up so badly that you aren't even sure you could if you tried.

You resist the temptation because you've only tried binging a few times; vomiting it all back up again scared you so badly that you've sworn to not do it again.

Seeking a distraction, and something sane and familiar, you pull Steve on top of you and kiss him, because it feels good, and he's not protesting either. Hot breath and sticky skin collide as you close your eyes and indulge yourself in the prickling sensations of pleasure and heat. It's been too long since he's touched you like this, and you almost let a breathy moan slip out as his hands roam your body while his tongue attacks your mouth.

"Oh GROSS," Clint moans from his spot on the couch. You smirk against Steve's lips and ignore him, because at the moment, you only need one distraction at a time.

"Get a room," Clint continues to whine, and this time you can hear Natasha chuckling too. You reach over and pull a blanket over your heads. While they might think you're doing it to annoy them, you're really trying to gain some sort of high that can distract you from the dull ache in your stomach, because you've been feeling like complete shit lately. Steve has a way of always making that feeling go away- if only for a little while- but you'll take what you can get.

You whine quietly in frustration as you work your lips against his, seeking friction and sloppy passion to arouse you in all the right ways.

"Tony, Tony.." Steve says just loud enough for you to hear, pulling back a bit, despite the grip you have on the sides of his soft face. "Hey.." His tone is gentle, concerned even, as he searches your face in the dancing light from the television screen.

"What's gotten into you?" It's not a demanding question, but one that you can tell he sincerely needs the answer to. He's been so worried about you, Tony. Just tell him the truth.

You avert your gaze and drop your hands down to your sides. Your voice is gruff and quiet, and it crushes whatever remains of your dignity to mutter, "I need you."

Without a word, Steve helps you off the floor and leads your to your shared bedroom. You have sex with your shirt on so Steve can't see how thin you've become, but he doesn't mention anything as he holds you afterwards and kisses sweet nothings into your hair.

The aches your body has become accustomed to are momentarily dulled, and as you drift off to sleep in the arms of your lover, you wonder if maybe the anxiety will go away, so things can go back to normal.

It occurs to you then, that ever since your own bomb blew up in your face, you haven't a clue what normal even is...

* * *

 **Super** **short update, I'm sorry! AP classes are killer. Stay tuned for the next installment, I'll get to it when I can. This will never be** **abandoned don't worry!**


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